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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26242039">A Mother's Songs</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Druna dilly dilly [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Deathly Hallows Year, F/M, Luna starts off in Malfoy dungeons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:41:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,598</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26242039</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
      <p>No alpha or beta, but I just wanted to go ahead and start getting into Luna's mind before your birthday, friend &lt;3 I'll just keep randomly adding to this collection for you. Because it's Druna and you introduced me this ship.</p>
    </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Luna Lovegood/Draco Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Druna dilly dilly [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906234</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Lavender's Blue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/gifts">Frumpologist</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>No alpha or beta, but I just wanted to go ahead and start getting into Luna's mind before your birthday, friend &lt;3 I'll just keep randomly adding to this collection for you. Because it's Druna and you introduced me this ship.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <em>Lavender’s green, </em>
  <em>dilly dilly</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lavender’s blue</em>
</p><p>
  <em>If you’ll love me, </em>
  <em>dilly dilly</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I will love you…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>I like to think I’m logic enough to sort things out in my mind. To see life for the pieces it really is and understand it’s not always about making the pieces fit—sometimes it’s taking a step even further back and finding where they belong.</p><p>It doesn’t do any good to get angry over a lake piece that you can’t fit into the sky.</p><p>Just as there’s no point in frustration over silly songs, no matter the circumstances they pop into your head and decide to set up permanent residence.</p><p>My mum loved to read. Anything and everything. She would always be singing and humming. I used to think they were silly tunes. Back when I was seven and thought I was too old for such childish things. Then she died and I sang everything I could remember.</p><p>I’ve forgotten so many of the songs now, though.</p><p>Understandable.</p><p>It’s been seven years now. And it’s not like I can sing to myself in class. That would impede my ability to listen in class. And I’m not always able to hum to myself while studying anymore. Some classes require more concentration.</p><p>If it’s taken being locked up in a dungeon, being in the dark and mostly alone, to have me singing Mum’s songs to myself again… To feel her nearness again…</p><p>I can’t bring myself to be too mad about it. Because logically I can reason that this is an opportunity to feel closer to her again.</p><p>To feel her.</p><p>Though, I hope Father’s all right. I feel certain he must at least be healthy and safe. Otherwise they would have no reason to keep me. I’m not important enough for any sort of blackmail or trade without Father and his printings.</p><p>I worry how he must be worrying.</p><p>I hope he’s singing some of Mum’s old songs, too.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Boy in Shadows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A certain someone is more often than not the one bringing them food...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Love you, friend &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>
  <em>Let the birds sing, dilly, dilly</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>and the lambs play</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>We shall be safe, dilly, dilly</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>out of harm's way</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s hard to make out sometimes. Cloaked in darkness himself.</p>
<p>But his eyes are light.</p>
<p>Like grey stars lost in the night.</p>
<p>Some part of me thinks I should hate him. That I should be furious with him. Demand he see good and reason and find a way to free us. Find some means of helping us any way he can.</p>
<p>Then I realise that he always leaves us more food than when others come. Always.</p>
<p>And even extra for me.</p>
<p>I don’t know if that’s intentional. Maybe it isn’t. More than likely it isn’t.</p>
<p>And if it’s on purpose, he surely knows me enough to know I’ll always share my extra half baguette with everyone else.</p>
<p>Or maybe he doesn’t. Know me well enough, that is. Why should he?</p>
<p>I’m Luna Lovegood. Lots of people at school calls me ‘Loony Lovegood’, actually. Perhaps that’s all he knows of me. That and I call Harry Potter my friend. And Harry considers me a friend. He asked me to a Christmas party last year as a friend. I’d never been invited to a party with a friend before. That was a lovely night all in all.</p>
<p>I wonder if Draco remembers that night. I remember him then. He seemed to be having a hard go of things back then.</p>
<p>He looks worse now. Eyes all sunk into the shadows of his face. His nose and chin are far too sharp. Too pointy. I think he’d be well on his way to being handsome right now if things were normal. If we weren’t in the midst of a war.</p>
<p>If he weren’t in such conflict.</p>
<p>Our eyes meet every time he comes with the food—more than twenty times now. I wonder if that means I’ve been down here more than a month, because it isn’t always him coming. And I don’t feel they’d feed us more than once a day. But maybe I’m wrong. Time doesn’t mean much at the moment.</p>
<p>Only sharing food after holding Draco’s gaze.</p>
<p>The length of time varies. Sometimes he’s in a rush and only stares long enough for a quick study. I wonder if he’s checking for marks or injuries. I know I am. I study him as long as he’ll allow.</p>
<p>What else is there to do?</p>
<p>Sometimes the skin around his eyes crinkle and he looks as though he wants to say something while his eyes are locked on mine. He hasn’t yet, but maybe he will. Eventually.</p>
<p>Or perhaps I should.</p>
<p>I should be the one to break the silence.</p>
<p>I’ve made enough Gryffindor friends for their pluck, nerve, and thick idiotic bravery to rub off on me.</p>
<p>Maybe I’ll let him hear me singing. Softly. Verses about being together with someone. Safe and far away from harm.</p>
<p>Somewhere where birds still sing and lambs are free to roam and play.</p>
<p>Somewhere where mother’s are alive and smiling as their children make new friends.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. hands. touch.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>unalpha'd, unbeta'd &lt;3 <br/>One more drabble before the long oneshot :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <em>Who told you so, dilly dilly, </em>
  <em>who told you so? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>'</em>
  <em>Twas my own heart, dilly dilly, that told me so.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>We will be free.</p><p>It’s a fact I repeat to myself and everyone with me.</p><p>They’re beyond answering me with dark, disbelieving laughs now. My words met with silence.Sometimes it’s silent hope. A flame flickers in their eyes, but it dwindles often. Fear chokes at it.</p><p>But I still believe.</p><p>In part because of Draco.</p><p>He’s pale and tired each time he brings us food, but he lingers a little more each time. Lingers and casts a series of wandless, non-verbal spells each time. Healing spells and warming charms. Nothing too much to draw attention. Enough to help.</p><p>Help the others.</p><p>Help me.</p><p>Fill me with hope.</p><p>And there’s something in his eyes. The way they lock onto mine. The way they dart and stop and focus. And dart about for another part of me to study.</p><p>It’s not until his he allows his knuckles to brush my hand that I’m certain we’re going to make it. We’re going to be free. That somehow we’ll win this war. And breathe free air again.</p><p>I know because Draco’s skin is warm and alive. And begging to be held and forgiven.</p><p>Some foolish part of my mind tries to convince the rest of me it was an accident on Draco’s part. That he never meant to touch my hand with his. I’m not entirely convinced…</p><p>I’m proven right when it happens again. And again.</p><p>And again.</p><p>He holds his breath each time. Throat bobs. Grey gaze lock on the magic and hope of skin-to-skin.</p><p>We’re starved of love. Of touch. Needy for the simplest of graces we once took for granted.</p><p>That’s how I see it all, at least.</p><p>Simple kindnesses are happening even in a dungeon. Hands are crying out to be held. Skin begs to be caressed. Eyes crave to see. To be seen.</p><p>And that’s how I know we’ll somehow make it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. warm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>last drabble in this!!! oneshot to follow in this series next!!! unabeta'd all errors are my own. Thank you all for reading!! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <em>Some to make hay, dilly dilly, some to cut corn,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>While you and I, dilly dilly, keep ourselves warm</em>
</p><p> </p><p>I’m still not used to how bright the world is. Months in a dungeon, and my eyes forgot how to adjust to the brilliance of light.</p><p>Even the dim light of nights at St. Mungo’s feels too much to bear.</p><p>I’m here, though.</p><p>I come every night after visiting hours. It feels the right thing to do.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> No one's tried to stop me from entering his room yet, either. </span></p><p>His mum is on house arrest. Will be for a while from what I’ve read in the paper. His father is locked away in Azkaban—though, I’m not confident of his relationship with his father. It seems a it’s thing tumultuous at best as a third party observer. It’s possibly he’s still figuring things out for himself in this time recovering.</p><p>Harry spoke on his behalf to Kingsley. Demanding he be allowed time to heal before being forced to stand a trial and such. I hugged him and kissed his cheek when he told us, and promptly informed Ginny I meant it only as a friend.</p><p>Friend.</p><p>What a wonderful word. And a beautiful world to rebuilt and have such things as friends.</p><p>Ginny would do well to remember that and curb that fiery jealous streak… but maybe that’s part of her and I need to accept that, too.</p><p>I think about things like that while I sit with Draco.</p><p>Draco sleeps most of the time I’m here, and that’s all right. A lot of it is potion induced for now. Until the healers can figure out what’s happened to him. When he’s awake, he can’t speak. It seems he’s able to hear, though.</p><p>So I read to him. Read all sorts of book. Some children books and a Muggle novel or two Hermione has loaned. This evening, I’ve brought a potions book and I’m curious how he’ll take to a piece of non-fiction. I’m curious if he likes potions as I think he does.</p><p>I’m curious if he’ll try to interact with me tonight.</p><p>Sometimes he does. He’s acted mad at my presence a few times, but that’s hardly deterring. He helped me, helped me feel safe when I very likely wasn’t.</p><p>I’m here to give him that now.</p><p>His usual friends are injured or under house arrest until our eighth year begins, so I’m here.</p><p>He has me, and it’s my turn to keep him safe.</p><p>To keep his heart warm.</p><p>Even if he doesn’t want it.</p>
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